A Letter to Maia

Hi Baby Sister. 

It’s been almost 6 years since I told you how much I loved you and how we were going to beat this cancer together. It still feels so surreal that I told you Happy Birthday one day and a few days later my world came crashing down. 

What’s changed in these six years? Hmmm not much. You would be 25; probably working on a second Master’s degree but you’d be crushing it because you loved learning. I’m now a Delta and although we never had a conversation about your intentions, I feel like we would have those delightful bickering conversations that I have with some of my D9 sisters. But whether you crossed before or after me, I know we would support each other like no other. 

You would hate 45 (like most of us do) and you’d probably be starting a non-profit to help teens with cancer because you always gave back. You’d be volunteering at Children’s Hospital often because they saved your life and that’s where you got to ring the bell when you kicked cancer’s ass. You’d have me up EARLY every Saturday running to find a cure, volunteering at the hospital or collecting something for somebody.

You would probably be on my last nerves begging me to make you an auntie and I’d have to explain to you that….

But you would insist that you’d take care of the baby and that I should name it after you. 

Dating down here is ghetto sis. It’s the one thing I’m slightly happy you don’t have to deal with. I’ve had my heart broken a few times and I don’t know how I would deal if anyone hurt you. I think the eastside would come out of the both of us and it would not be a great sight. 

Oh sissy pooh, you would love Flood’s. We would literally be cutting up on Tuesdays. I’d have to cut my eyes at you every time you came back with a new drink you hustled off somebody’s granddaddy and as much as I would fuss against drinking it, you’d talk me into it. I feel like we’d put our own spin on the Tamia hustle and everyone would want to learn it. We’d never teach it though because it’s our special thing. 

I’m starting to forget how you sound, your laughter. I almost freaked out the other day because I couldn’t find the screenshot of our last conversation. But I still remember your smile; before and after cancer. It never changed no matter how bad it got. I wonder how God put that much light into someone that they could smile through their darkest times the way you did. I wish I had that much light in me but I try to think of you even at my lowest of lows. Sometimes I can feel you wiping away my tears and it’s very calming.

I love you baby sis. I miss you. I miss your grandma’s laugh and how your mom would say “Hey Jamilah” because she got a kick out of us having the same name. I wish I could have one more good time with all three of you but I have to find comfort in knowing that you all are together. It’s been six years and God has not answered my prayer of waking me up from this dream so I have to keep pushing forward; remembering even when I am weak, you are with me to make me strong. 

Maia was my little sister. My dad and her grandmother, Renee, taught at Nataki Taliba. One of my dad’s first students was Renee’s daughter, Jamilah (my namesake). Although our families were close, Maia and I had our own relationship through our time at Wayne State’s Math Corps summer program. We bonded through our love of dance. I was so elated when she decided to come to Renaissance with me because that meant I’d have her with me year-round. 

Maia was diagnosed with colon cancer her senior year of high school. She didn’t let it stop her. She still went to prom and graduated. She decided to continue her education at Wayne State as her condition improved. 

A few days after her 19th birthday, she passed away. Her mother and grandmother also passed away a few years later.